““Nice place you have here.” Zaleshoff looked up from the tray of drinks. “The man who owns it is a secret admirer of the late lamented Empress Eugenie. That explains the decorations. Frankly, they make me a little uneasy.” He handed Kenton a whisky and soda. The journalist took it and held it up to the light. “No knock-out drops, no little-known vegetable poisons, no dopes?” he asked tentatively. Zaleshoff frowned. “I’ve had occasion to notice in you before, Kenton, an irritating habit of facet...iousness. If you don’t want the drink, say so before I pour out another for myself.” Kenton put the glass down and sighed. “Sorry, Andreas, but you really can’t blame me. You push off and leave me holding a nasty little baby in the shape of a murder charge; I ask your henchman, Rashenko, for a little help in getting away, and he gives me an overcoat stained with blood, which, I can’t help feeling, once belonged to a gentleman named Borovansky—the blood I mean; then you send along a couple of thugs disguised as detectives, to kidnap me.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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